And We Move Forward to the Day
by Aerophin
Summary: "I must warn you though. Four years. Four years before they find her." — AmyRory, River, the Doctor


_Author Note_: Unbeta'd, sorry for mistakes. Also, sorry for sucking majorly at writing about British people! _**Spoilers up to 6x07 "A Good Man Goes to War."**_

**o.o.o.o.o**

Amy doesn't buy milk anymore.

And Rory, with his own sad eyes that watch Amy move lifelessly through their home, doesn't blame her. It's been two weeks since Demon's Run, but no amount of time can heal the wounds of an empty mother's arms.

Their small, two-bedroom flat suddenly seems too large for the two of them, so he moves toward the front door and steps outside for a moment. And he remembers, all too clearly, when they arrived home two weeks ago.

"You'll be alright, then?" River asks, hand on her Vortex Manipulator, seconds from disappearing. Second time in the past hour.

"Yeah," Amy answers quickly with a bob of her head, wiping away remnants of tears while not meeting River's eyes.

River makes a noise of sympathy and drops her arms. "Amy," she croons, "you'll be okay. I know you will. You know you will." And she smiles, that classic River smile, and with a tilt of her head, stretches out her arms for a hug.

In response, Amy just stares. "How can you just…?" she nearly shrieks and steps backward.

"Amy—" Rory interjected, and moves from behind to wrap her in his arms.

"Tell me!" Amy yells this time, struggling to get free, "Tell me where they took you! We can contact the Doctor, tell him where to find you before—"

"Amy."

She stops moving.

"You know I can't do that."

River holds her arms out again, and Amy runs into them. She is quiet for a few moments, and when it's clear she doesn't plan on letting go anytime soon, begins to sob. She hides her face in the crook of River's neck, getting that green dress soaked in a mother's tears.

And Rory, with his heart still breaking, reaches out and holds them.

Both of them. His girls.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Rory doesn't buy milk either.

At least, for the first two weeks, he tries not to. He busies himself as best he can, wondering if he's still got that nursing job at the hospital. He's not quite sure when River brought them home—she said it's only been days since they left for America, but even so, a few days missing from work will never stand well with Dr. Carver.

So two days after they return home, Rory drives himself to the hospital, after making sure Amy's planning on getting out of bed that day.

"I'm so sorry, Dr. Carver—"

"Oh, you're back then, Rory?" Dr. Carver looks up from the patient file in her hands. "Amy's all better now?"

Rory pauses. "Uh, yeah."

"That's good to hear. And how come you've never said you had a sister in London?" She pushes past him on her way to her office. "Told me all about you and Amy playing dress-up doctor when you were young. Oh, I'd imagine your dedication came from a life-long desire."

Now he's confused. "My…sister?"

"Oh, well, don't be surprised!" the doctor admonishes him, slapping him on the arm with the file. "She did say she doesn't visit much, wanted to see where her baby brother worked. Came to say you wouldn't be in for a few days, that Amy'd gotten a nasty bug."

"Yeah, my sister…" Rory trails off, in thought.

"I can see the resemblance a bit, although with her curly head of hair I'd never thought she was your sister until she said," giving a pointed look to Rory's short, straight hair.

"Yeah, that…sister of mine," he said with a forced smile as Dr. Carver walked away.

After work, Rory drives ten minutes out of his way to another supermarket. Two weeks without his favorite morning cereal and he's nearly gone mad. He tried to go to the supermarket in Leadworth, he did really, but as soon as he's inside, he can't help but wonder whose bright idea it was to put the infant section right beside the dairy.

He tries not to, just wants to go in and grab his milk, but the bottles and nappies are right there, invading the corner of his vision, begging him to come over. And he can't help himself.

He walks through the aisles, endless smiling baby faces on packaging, toys, clothing. And his eyes water, and his mouth goes dry, and he can't breathe without seeing her face—her small nose and those big eyes—and before he knows it, just like Amy, he's panting outside the supermarket doors, milkless.

So he finds himself in another supermarket in another small town, buying a smaller carton of milk at a higher price.

"So…" begins the cashier as he scans the single carton of milk. He looks only sixteen, his nametag reading _Jonathon._ "Never seen you around here before."

"Uh, yeah, I'm from Leadworth," Rory says in a hurry. He just wants to leave.

"What are you doing this far out?" Jonathon pauses to look at him.

"On my way home. Just stopped for some milk." Rory holds up the grocery bag.

"There's no supermarket in Leadworth…?" Jonathon raises a brow.

Rory pauses. "Nope."

Over the next few weeks, they sort of become friends. Rory's working in a hospital to be a doctor one day, Jonathon wants to study architecture. Jonathon's got a girlfriend, but they've only started dating and he's not sure what's going to happen. Rory's just recently married, but he's known her since they were children. Every Wednesday, like a ritual, Rory comes in for his small carton of milk at a higher price. But he stops one week, and Jonathon hopes he's realized that yes, there is actually a supermarket in Leadworth.

**o.o.o.o.o**

Amy doesn't know what to do with herself.

She's in-between jobs, having given up her kissogram gig after the wedding, and so she's at home, with nothing to do but remember. And she remembers all too well, her baby being ripped from her arms, melting into the flesh.

So she begins to clean, cleaning things that have needed cleaning for months, and things that don't need cleaning at all. But it's all she can do to busy herself, and sometimes she can get away with forgetting for a few hours.

After everything's sparkling, she always finds herself at the front window, staring out across the street at the playground filled with children. She nestles on the couch with a cup of tea, and watches the children run about with their smiling faces and swinging ponytails and jackets flapping in the wind and wonders if her Melody would've been out there with them enjoying her childhood.

When Rory returns home, that's where he finds her, her tea long cold, face glued to the window. He takes her into his arms, snuggles with her on the couch, and sits with her for as long as she needs. And he reminds her that they know how Melody's story ends, and for all it's worth, she turns out wonderfully amazing.

The next two weeks find them like this, sitting on the couch until night breaks and the playground is empty. Amy's always lying on top of Rory, her back to his stomach. She reaches her hands up this head, running her fingers through his locks and taking comfort in his arms around her stomach and his breath on the side of her face. Eventually Rory will nudge her, and he'll lead her to their bedroom through the dark.

It's getting better, Rory notes, but things will never be the same. He tucks Amy into bed each night, asking if she needs anything, and she always declines. As he crawls under the sheets and sneaks his arms around her, she buries her face into his chest and breathes in the familiar smell of _Rory_ and falls into a dreamless sleep.

One night, during the fifth week, she hears it.

It's faint and sounds far away, but it's there, she knows it, and she sits up straight to hear better, and there it goes again, that _vworp vworp_ from a lifetime ago. Scrambling out of bed, sheets flying and disturbing Rory in his sleep, Amy flies out the bedroom door, her socked feet sliding across the floor. She flings the front door open, and runs out into the night air, Rory following behind.

And there it stands, in all its tall blueness, its light shining in the dark night. Amy nearly cries at the sight.

The door opens suddenly, and a head pops out.

"Ah, the Ponds!" he calls out, a smile spreading across his face. "Wasn't sure if I had the right house. The mailbox says 'Williams.'"

"Doctor," Amy says with tears in her eyes and a bright smile.

He disappears into the TARDIS, and she can't help but wonder if... When he comes out, he's holding a white bundle delicately, he face aglow.

And Amy cries this time, making a strange noise, her voice caught in her throat. Rory rushes forward as the Doctor places the bundle in Amy's waiting arms. Amy begins to properly sob, and Rory feels tears falling on his own face.

"Thank you, Doctor," he manages to say after a moment, cradling his wife and child in his arms.

She's beautiful, his Melody, sleeping like an angel in her mother's arms as her parents cry above her. She's more magnificent than he remembers.

"And she's not flesh," the Doctor clarifies, fixing his bowtie. "I checked."

He stands back, waiting as they fawn over their child, a satisfied smile on his face. After they stop crying—he'll never understand why humans cry so much—he steps forward, and is suddenly tackled into a hug by Rory. That man is fast, the Doctor notes. Only a moment ago he was behind Amy and kissing Melody.

"Thank you, Doctor," Rory says with red eyes as he pulls away. "Thank you."

"Rory the Roman," the Doctor replies, "the boy who waited. You're welcome."

Rory doesn't know how long they stand outside in the cold air. But it doesn't matter, because she's here, she's really, finally here. Melody, home where she belongs.

"But, Doctor," Rory begins. "Won't it be weird? Us suddenly having a baby and Amy having never been pregnant?" He's had a long time to think.

"Oh, don't worry," the Doctor brushes his question aside. "I've put somewhat of a perception filter on Melody. It'll be as if Amy was always pregnant and no one will question. By the time the filter wears off, no one will even think to remember the time when Amy was supposed to be pregnant."

Rory, apparently satisfied, turned his unwavering attention back to his daughter making numerous cooing noises as she plays with her mother's hair.

"I must warn you, though."

They don't mind the Doctor.

"Four years."

They finally lift their heads. "What are you talking about?" Rory asks.

"Four years," the Doctor repeats. "Four years before they find her."

The color drains from Amy's face. "What?"

"I can only fool their sensors for four years. They'll come for your baby, won't stop searching. But it'll be four years before that happens."

"Doctor," Rory says, his voice like steel. "What do you mean? We only have four years before she's stolen again?"

The Doctor says nothing.

"No, no it won't happen," says Rory stepping forward, his face hard. "No. I will fight a thousand armies before that happens ever again."

"I'm sorry," the Doctor says, putting a hand on Rory's shoulder. "You won't be able to fight it. They'll take her in the night, right out of your arms. You'll never know."

"Doctor, you have to stop them," Amy begs. "You can't just let them take our baby again."

"Four years is the best I could do. But hey, don't fret," he says to Amy, lifting her chin. "Four year isn't so bad. They'll wipe her memory, she won't remember a thing. But four years with you is better than four years in a white prison being trained as a weapon. Four years with the love and care of a family, best defense against the hatred of your enemies. It'll be harder to break her when she has the faintest memory of love planted in her mind, and River Song is a hard woman to break."

"But she's isn't River Song yet," whimpers Amy, rubbing a finger against the babe's cheek. "She's Melody Pond, brightest star in the universe."

The Doctor moves toward the TARDIS, opening the door. He gives them a sad smile, his eyes sadder. "I'll see you in four years."

And off he goes to the ends of the universe.

**o.o.o.o.o**

It's a glorious four years.

In fact, it's almost five years. She's beautiful, their Melody Williams (or Pond, depending on whom you ask). So inquisitive, that child. She can never stay still, always running about, Amy or Rory running after her, laughing. She asks all the strange questions children ask, scaring her mother with the creepiest crawlies from the garden, frightening her father with all the daring antics she performs.

Amy shrieks. "What is _that_? Melody Pond, you will take those _things_ back outside where they came from!"

Rory yells. "How did you even get up there? Get down from that shed _now_ before you fall, Melody Williams. _This instant_."

And it's the best almost five years they've ever had.

After her fourth birthday party, no one notices how nervous her parents look. Her mother constantly scans the windows, making sure Melody doesn't stay outside for too long. Her daddy double checks the locks on all the doors and windows at night, paying particular attention to Melody's room.

It's annoying, Melody thinks, how protective her parents are. But of course, she's too young to realize these things and wonders why her parents won't let her camp outside underneath the stars. Kelly's parents let her do it all the time. They're beautiful, those stars, and someday she wants to be able to fly the skies and see the glory of the galaxy.

But she's only a child, and doesn't understand galaxies and time loops and meteor showers. When she picks up a book about the Milky Way at the library, her parents exchange a look that she doesn't understand, so she goes about finding more books on stars.

And ever since she turned four, her parents—both of them, every night—tuck her into bed, read her a bedtime story, and just sit. They never leave while she's awake, and she wonders what they're doing. How is she supposed to sleep if they're watching her with the lights on? But it's not all bad. Most of the time she doesn't want to sleep, so when she asks for another bedtime story to stay awake longer, they usually strangely oblige.

One time, during the night, consciousness breaks through her sleep and she faintly hears her parents talking.

"I can't stand this, this not knowing when," her mummy whispers. Daddy wraps his arms around her tighter.

"I know, I know."

"And what of the Doctor? He's coming, right?"

"Yes, of course he is. He always comes back."

"Flies away to the skies, every time."

"Uhhmmm."

"Always going away. Leaving us behind." She sounds so sad, Melody thinks.

"Amy—"

"But you're always here. You've always been here. Thank you." And she kisses him and Melody closes her eyes because _ewww, they're kissing_. She clutches a small green prayer leaf her mother said a friend gave to her a long time ago and falls asleep soon after.

Time passes. It's almost four months until Melody's fifth birthday, and Amy's almost forgotten. Fear hidden far behind her joyous life and the constant commotion of Melody growing. Maybe the Doctor got it wrong, forgot a digit. Fourteen years instead of four, or maybe they stopped looking. Forever.

Amy almost forgets. Almost.

Rory's putting Melody to sleep. Amy steps out into the cold night air. She raises her eyes, to the moon, and waits.

A month later, Rory wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night, panting. He wipes his eyes, trying to rid himself of his latest nightmare. This time, he suffers a bullet to the back in 1941 during the London Blitz, and the Pandorica burns. He turns to Amy's side of the bed, to touch her, feel her living breath on his face, know he didn't fail. But she's gone.

He races to Melody's room, and there she is, tears streaming down her face as she clutches Melody's empty blanket to her chest. They knew it was coming, and that was the worst part.

Amy cries silently on Rory's chest, Melody's blanket locked between them, and he rocks her back and forth, unable to speak because of his own tears. He wishes he could wake up from this nightmare, like he's done before, but this time there is no Dream Lord to confuse reality and no waking up to a better tomorrow. They sit, and cry, and wait.

Rory has no idea how long they sat there, holding desperately to each other, but he hears the familiar noise of hope. His head snaps up, and Amy soon hears it, and they're out the door, onto the front lawn staring at the bluest thing in the world.

"Four years, six months," says Amy as soon as the Doctor pops out. She smiles hesitantly. "Your timing is still off."

"Ah, well," replies the Doctor. "It worked out for the better. Come along, Ponds!" He throws his hands up in excitement and runs back to the TARDIS.

Rory turns to Amy. "I'll go get—"

"Yeah, okay," she replies. Rory runs back inside their flat, and Amy hurries to the Doctor. "Uh, we have to get some things first," she says before running after Rory.

"_Get some things_?" the Doctor says with a scowl, halfway through the TARDIS doors. "What kind of things could you possibly need that the TARDIS can't provide?"

But Amy's already gone, and the Doctor just stares after the two of them, sighing. And he waits, for once.

Rory runs back into Melody's room, grabs a yellow blanket, and hurries to the bed opposite Melody's.

"Come on here, big boy," he says to the sleeping figure while pulling back the sheets. "It's time to go."

The boy slowly opens his eyes as he's lifted from his bed. "Where we going, Daddy?"

"To find your sister," Rory answers as Amy enters the room.

"Where Melly go?"

"Shhh, go back to sleep," Amy croons at her son and pushes his head against Rory's shoulder to encourage him to doze. Rory wraps the blanket around the boy as Amy scans the room, making sure she hasn't forgotten anything.

"A-ha," she says as she picks up a stuffed bear from the floor. "Can't forget you, can we?"

The Doctor looks annoyed when they finally emerge from the house, leaning against the TARDIS with his arms crossed.

"Took you Ponds long enough!" He turns around, hands on the door handle, ready to burst inside.

"Oh, please!" calls out Amy. "It was five minutes! And a proper five minutes, not twelve years."

"Oh, that again," the Doctor rolls his eyes. "And what sort of things did you need to—_Oh_," he says when Rory comes into view. "Those sort of things." The Doctor moves toward Rory, a smile now on his face. "And who's this?"

"This is our son, Nathan," Rory answers proudly. Nathan stares at the Doctor, unsure what to make of him. He's silent as the Doctor takes his small hand in greeting. He turns away after the Doctor lets go and places his head once again on his father's shoulder.

"Daddy?" he asks.

"Yeah?"

"Where we going?"

"Anywhere and everywhere, to find Melody."

"Will we see Aunt River?"

"Maybe. Maybe we will," says Rory as he walks into the TARDIS. "Look."

Nathan lifts his head in awe.

Outside, the Doctor accuses Amy, "You never told me you had a son."

"You never asked!" She holds a basket full of small bags of food. "What was I supposed to do? Call you?"

"I have a phone!"

"But unlike you, I do not have intergalactic phoning capabilities."

"True. What is that? Apples? Cookies?"

"Nathan's favorite snacks." She shifts items in the basket.

"The TARDIS has plenty of food!"

"Nathan is picky."

"An apple is an apple!"

"Oh, and this"—she wiggles the teddy bear in his face as she moves past him—"is Dr. Fish Fingers."

The Doctor grabs the bear and stares. "Dr. Fish Fingers? Where did that rubbish name come from?"

"From you!" Amy yells from inside the TARDIS.

"From me?" The Doctor glances at the bear in his hands again as realization dawns on him. "Oh. I like Dr. Fish Fingers now. Dr. Fish Fingers is cool!"

And he skips off into the TARDIS, ready to travel all of time and space.

**o.o.o.o.o**

It's night. At least, she thinks it is. She's tired after a full day of training, but the white walls of her room have no windows, so she can't tell. Not that it matters, because there's no one to tuck her in at night…like they used to? She shakes her head. Sometimes she thinks she remembers someone—or someones—but she's been here, in this white room, for as long as she can remember, and no one comes to tuck her in at night.

She's almost fourteen. That's what Madame Kovarian says, the only woman close enough to be a mother. But Madame Kovarian is no mother, and sometime she wishes there was a world beyond the white walls and training fields and armories of her life.

She tried to leave once, broke out of that ridiculous astronaut suit when she was younger, but she didn't get far, and Madame Kovarian was furious. She pushes the memory of that day out of her mind, and reaches into her pocket.

It's her little secret, something even Madame Kovarian doesn't know, and the Madame knows everything about her life, controls everything. But it's her hope at the end of the day, because someone had to have made it for her, given it to her, loved her. She wonders sometimes.

It's a green piece of cloth, sewn at the ends into a ten-pointed star. One side says _song_, the other says _river._

Song. River. Song River. River Song.

She traces the gold thread for the millionth time. She thinks it's her name, maybe. What else do you sew onto little green stars? Who knows, because this is the only life she's known.

River Song. Song River.

"My name is Song River. River Song…"

Suddenly, there's a noise at her door. She scrambles to put the green star away, but it's strange. The door just opens for the Madame, there's no need for a key. What's that noise?

The door opens, and a voice exclaims, "Yes!"

She presses up against the wall behind her bed, terrified.

A head pops out, floppy brown hair and deep, dark green eyes. It scans the room, and finds her hidden behind her bed, quivering.

"Oh, hey, don't be afraid," it says, and the rest of it follows as the man moves from behind the door. A tweed jacket, brown slacks, suspenders, and—a bowtie? He starts mumbling to himself as he crosses the room. "Now that I've found you, I can find baby you, then it's off to Amy and Rory!"

"What are you talking about?" He's weird, this one, but he seems familiar, somehow. And definitely not one of the Madame's men.

"Oh, nothing, don't mind me. Well, you do that all the time anyway, so shouldn't be hard. Great!" And he claps his hands together, spins in a circle, and stops to point her way.

She'd slink closer to the wall if it were possible. "What are you doing here?" she begs.

He comes closer, kneels down to her level. He smiles, and it's so gentle, so unlike the ones Madame Kovarian throws her way. "Just came to pop in and say, 'Hello, River.'"

River.


End file.
